


Bedroom Etiquette

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bad Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, failed attempts at being funny on the part of the author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even handsome Ninja-SEALs and dashing Task Force Detectives don't have perfect sex-lives.  A no-holds-barred chronicle of Steve and Danny's less than stellar bedroom shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, good luck, guys. As always, my thanks go to Chris, the best cheerleader a girl could ever ask for.

Danny doesn’t say anything when he enters the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned and socks still in hand - grey polka dots, a somber color for a somber day. He merely strolls in, hitches himself up on the kitchen island, and waits. 

And then waits some more.

Steve throws him a smile, a casual, “Morning Danno,” as he walks past to slide the frying pan into the sink. It hisses a little as it meets the cool water, the only real sound in the kitchen apart from the impatient drum of Danny’s fingers against the wooden tabletop.

Until Danny explodes, that is. “ _Morning, Danno_!? That’s what you’re giving me, here? _Morning, Danno_?”

Steve, genuinely confused, takes the other pan off the heat. He’s well-versed in the length of Danny’s rants, and he tries to only eat bacon once or twice a week, so he’s not prepared to risk burning these tasty slices. “What have I done?”

At this, Danny throws his hands up to the heavens, as if asking for strength. “Are you serious? You are, aren’t you. You don’t remember last night?”

A somewhat dopey smile creeps its way across Steve’s face, the hazy memory of a sleepy orgasm obviously being replayed in his mind. “Oh yeah, I remember.” 

His tone is pleased and satisfied, but it only spurs Danny’s annoyance on even further. “Oh yeah? Well, _I_ don’t. I don’t remember anything like that at _all_.”

Steve advances upon him, quick smart, his fingers gently probing Danny’s temples and turning his head this way and that. He does so with a level of concern that could melt the hardest of hearts. “Did you hit your head? Are you okay?”

Danny’s heart? Normally it’s one giant soft-spot – at least when it comes to cheeky monkey daughters and crazy SEAL-ninja partners. But not today. No, sir, not today. Today his heart is resolute; ice-cold and made of stone.

Well. Sort of. 

Steve is looking at him so lovingly and worriedly, and it troubles Danny slightly that his partner’s brain immediately jumps to physical trauma. “Stop it, stop it!” He bats Steve’s hands away - more gently than he’d been planning to, at any rate. “I do not have a concussion, you giant oaf.”

Steve is beginning to look a little irritated. “What are you going on about, then?” 

They’re neither of them known for beating around the bush, and even personal issues are generally brought up with little finesse. They prefer it that way, it works for them. (Even if Danny’s mother sometimes tuts at him over the phone whenever he regales her with tales of their verbal sparring matches.) 

Danny hops down from the bench, crowding into Steve and pushing him up against the fridge with a stern finger pressed to his stupidly sexy blue SEAL tee. “The reason I don’t remember, is because _someone_ \- and I’m not naming any names, but let’s say that he’s a six foot tall tattooed buffoon named Stefano – fell asleep on top of me about two point three seconds after coming all over my thigh. I don’t remember, because I _have_ nothing to remember. Also, you are heavy, Steve. I say that with love, but you are not a small man, and you’re not great for my continued habit of respiration.”

“What?” Steve protests indignantly, getting geared up to argue with his usual vigor. “I did _not_ fall asleep on you! I got you off first!”

Danny shakes his head with almost comical flair, so severe is his disagreement. “No, Steven, you did not. You said, and I quote!” At this, he points a finger to the ceiling. “ _‘That was great, babe. Thanks.’_ Then you flopped on top of me and started snoring like a hippopotamus.”

“I do _not_ snore.”

Danny doesn’t even try to cover up his huff of disagreement. “That’s a discussion for another time. At the moment, we’re talking about sexually selfish ninjas and their lack of bedroom etiquette.”

“Oh right,” Steve scoffs. “And you’re perfect? It’s like sleeping with a schnauzer, you practically shed all over the bed. And I’m the one who does the laundry.”

At this, Danny grinds his teeth, not quite willing to concede but also not quite having the hubris to outright disagree. “Oh right, because when one thinks of Steve McGarrett, one immediately thinks of sleek-legged ladies in Gilette razor ads. Besides, that is _also_ a discussion for another time.”

Steve’s left eyebrow begins a steady ascent into his hairline. “How convenient for you.” 

After that, the kitchen descends into a terse silence, both of them irritated and annoyed. One of the things that Steve has learned about committing to someone, is that it doesn’t mean you’re suddenly skipping through the daisies, letting arguments go out of the goodness of your heart.

The rest of the morning is spent circling each other like testy sharks, even when they get to work. They suck it up out of respect for the job – not to mention their teammates – but there’s a glum tinge to the air.

The afternoon sees the whole team dotted around an abandoned factory, collecting themselves after a raid. Everybody is fine, having learned long ago to anticipate each others’ moves, but it’s always a rush of adrenaline nonetheless. 

Just as Danny settles on a crate, inspecting the trigger of his Colt, his phone vibrates against his thigh. He rests the rifle to his chest, letting the strap take the slack, then roots around in his pocket for the phone.

A quick swipe of fingers – Chin has been teaching him keyboard shortcuts – reveals a text message from Steve.

_I, Steve McGarrett, owe Danny Williams one mind-blowing, earth shattering orgasm, to be redeemed upon receiver’s choice of time and place._

Danny stares determinedly down at the screen, cursing his ears’ unfortunate habit of blushing whenever he’s turned on and embarrassed. A contingent of SWAT officers strolls by, and he pretends to be deeply engrossed in his reading. Fortunately, the phone vibrates again a few seconds later, genuinely giving him something to do.

_Also, you have this amazing expression when you come. Your face goes all tense and your mouth presses into a thin line, but you always try to keep your eyes open. I think it’s because you want to look at me. It’s stupidly romantic. How could I not love that?_

Okay. It’s a cliché. Danny knows that it’s a cliché, tries very hard not to give in – and yet he can’t help but search for Steve’s precious face amongst the crowd of police that’s milling around.

Their eyes meet across the room, Steve smiling hesitantly at him. They’re just on their way to sharing a _look_ , when Kono’s yelp of amusement catches his attention. 

Chin, stood beside her, outright groans and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if he’s just seen something that he wishes he could forget. Kono holds her phone up, looking guilty and entertained and slightly disturbed all at once.

Alarmed, Danny immediately returns his attention to the text message, his heart flipping sadly when he realizes that, yes, Steve has accidentally just informed the entire team of his orgasm particulars. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he can almost hear Steve’s flinch from across the room.

\- - -  
\- - -

“Babe… babe… please.” Steve’s hands fist in Danny’s hair, but his tone isn’t begging lustfully so much as begging _despairingly._ “Just… please stop.”

Perplexed, Danny looks up the length of Steve’s body. He lets Steve’s cock slip out of his mouth, shifting back and rubbing a hand across his lips to wipe away a smear of saliva and pre-cum. “What, what’s wrong?”

Steve looks pained and guilty, now perched on his elbows and staring just shy of Danny’s actual face. “Look, it’s… we need to talk.”

Danny can’t quite help the flash of panic that zings around his body electrically. It hadn’t been a surprise when Rachel had sat down at their kitchen table and uttered those words, all those years ago. He was perceptive, he’d known that things had been falling apart. 

But now? This time? Just this morning Steve had been wrapped around him, nuzzling his neck and laughing into his ear as they’d tried to cook breakfast together with their limbs attached. 

As if sensing his worry, Steve sits up, drawing Danny in until they’re clumsily sitting against each other. “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing bad. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have started off like that.” He places his hand on Danny’s chest, scratching his fingernails gently through the scruff of pale hair, feeling the thump of Danny’s heart slowly begin to ease. “Look… relationships are about honesty, right?”

Danny nods, shifting a little so that his knees knock against Steve’s.

“It’s just… that thing you do with your tongue?” Steve, the goof, pokes his tongue out demonstratively before slurping it back in between his teeth. “It’s kind of terrible. …really terrible, since we’re talking about it. So please, I love you, but please stop it.”

Danny feels a variety of things, indignant, a bit embarrassed, even a little sad. “I do a lot of things with my tongue, Steven. What thing are we talking about, exactly?”

After a second of hesitation, Steve leans forward and sort of… wiggles his tongue against Danny’s cheek. “That. Except, you know…” he trails off, waving a hand at his cock, (which has certainly lost interest in proceedings). “Down there, instead.”

Scowling, Danny wipes his fingers against his cheek. “How long have we been fucking, and you’re only telling me this now?”

“I was trying to be nice! Kono said that-“

“You told Kono!?”

“ _Any_ way.” Steve waves his hands, as if trying to brush his accidental confession under the rug. “I was trying to be nice. You used to only do it every now and then, so I figured I’d shut up and just deal with it. But the last few weeks you’ve been doing it all the time, and it’s driving me crazy.” His words are hurried, as if he’s trying to get everything out before Danny inevitably explodes.

Danny, however, doesn’t explode. He doesn’t start ranting or waving his hands around, he doesn’t spring up off the bed and begin pacing the room like a drill sergeant. He just settles down under the covers, curling slightly into himself and closing his eyes. “Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore.”

It’s so completely and utterly unlike him that Steve begins to think that he’s fucked up irrevocably. Danny is not quiet, not submissive, not sensitive – not sensitive like _this_ , at any rate. He’s confident and cocky and he gives as good as he gets, never willing to just shut up and take it.

With a soft sigh, Steve gloomily settles down beside him, spooning against his back and apologetically nuzzling into his soft blonde hair. Danny’s mop, when it’s not stiff and gelled back, is ruffled and soft. “You give great head, babe.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh of disbelief, his body shaking once before stilling again. “Yeah.”

“You do!” Steve insists. “The other day, in the shower? You didn’t do the tongue thing, and… well, remember how fast I came?” It pains Steve to admit it out loud, but he’d shot off like a bottle rocket. “It’s just this one thing.”

Danny is still for a spell, as if mulling over Steve’s words. Seemingly coming to a decision, he rolls over, pressing their chests together and tucking into the curve of Steve’s chin. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Sorry. I shouldn’t get all… you should… yeah. You should be able to tell me about the stuff you don’t like. So okay. I’ll stop doing… that.” His words are jilted and awkward, breathed out against the scratchy spread of stubble down Steve’s neck.

Silence descends, the both of them lost in thought. Steve, naturally, breaks it with a, “so… can we give it another try?”

Danny may or may not kick him in the shins.

\- - -  
\- - -

“Oh, fuck! Shit! Sorry!” Steve, slightly horrified, falls to the mattress in a tangle of limbs.

Danny, face streaked with ropes of cum, smacks a hand to his eye and promptly falls off the edge of the bed.

“Danny!” Steve crawls forward, peering over the blankets to take in the sight of his partner sprawled on the floor. “Are you alright?”

“You fucker!” Danny shouts, now knuckling his face with one hand whilst wiping off creamy dribbles with the other. “You got me in the eye!”

“I’m _sorry!_ You just caught me by surprise, that’s all!”

“ _Caught you by surprise_?!” Danny parrots back, fluttering his left eyelid experimentally. The lashes stick a little, then the lid springs open. “I was sitting down! I hadn’t even started yet! Is sitting down a well-known mating ritual amongst the Navy that I’m not familiar with?”

“No! No, it’s just…” He gives up, quietly reaching across the bed to the box of tissues and then handing Danny a generous dozen.

“Just what, Steve?” Danny dabs at his eyes, blinks owlishly a few times, then lobs the tissues at Steve’s chest. “Put those in the trash.” With a grumble, he hauls himself back onto the bed, smacking away Steve’s helpful hands.

Steve does as told, taking the opportunity to flick the lamp on before tentatively reaching up to touch Danny’s face. “Lemme see.”

“Fuck off, no, you’ve done more than enough damage as it is.”

“Come on, come on,” Steve encourages softly. “Let me see.”

With a huff of impatience, Danny tilts his head back, letting Steve inspect the lid with painfully gentle fingers. “I know you’ve got high expectations of your virility,” he mutters up at the ceiling. “But I don’t think McGarrett semen can actually take an eye out.”

Inspection apparently complete, Steve presses his fingertips to Danny’s nape, coaxing him to drop his chin down. Once their gazes catch, he shuffles forward to drop an achingly sweet kiss to the little creases beside Danny’s ‘injured’ eye. “I’m sorry. Just got… excited, I guess.”

A million comments compete to be the first off the tip of Danny’s tongue, but Steve looks too guilty to properly chastise. In the peace and quiet of his own thoughts, Danny knows that as earth-shatteringly amazing as Steve can be in bed, sometimes his stamina isn’t always up to snuff. 

Steve had once rather drunkenly confessed to him that a few of his Naval… _encounters_ during the age of DADT, had required a degree of sexual brevity that occasionally carried over into civilian life. 

Truth be told, he worries sometimes that Steve still feels that lingering nervousness; that need to hurry up lest he be caught; that faded sense that he’s doing something wrong. It breaks Danny’s heart a little, and between one second and the next all traces of annoyance leaves him. 

(Besides - Steve’s given him some of the most devastating, knee-trembling orgasms of his life, he can’t really complain in the long-run.)

“It’s alright,” Danny soothes. “Hey, we’re even now. Payback for that time I shoved you against the bookcase and your great aunt’s vase fell on your head.”

Steve, goof that he is, grins. “Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. We still did it, though.” His whole face beams with pride, and Danny can’t help but fall in love with him all over again.

“You bet we did, babe.”

\- - - -  
\- - - -

The second that Danny feels it, feels a little lump where there shouldn’t be one, a jolt of adrenaline courses through his veins. It’s so vicious that it leaves him trembling. He’s used to controlling anxiety, hell, being cool under pressure is about fifty percent of his job description. But this… this sends him reeling.

“Danny?” Steve asks, hands falling to rest by his sides. Steve looks worried, all wide eyes peering up at him in the early morning light. “Danny, what’s wrong?”

Trying to calm himself, Danny slides his fingers out of Steve’s body, sitting back on his haunches between Steve’s spread legs and taking a few deep breaths. He knows that he’s scaring Steve, knows that he has to choose his words carefully; knows, ultimately, that this isn’t about him.

“I…babe…” Another deep breath, then another. He smoothes his hand along Steve’s thigh, hair crinkling under his palm. “Look. I’m not sure. I… I think I felt something. I…” his heart suddenly races, white noise whistling past his ears, and he only comes back to himself when Steve sits up, gathers him into his arms.

Danny immediately feels terrible. Steve shouldn’t be keeping him calm, it’s supposed to be the other way around. “I’m sorry. I just… I just think that I felt something… something wrong. And I think… fuck, Steve. I think maybe you need to see a doctor.”

Steve shifts, presses their noses together. They sit there, wrapped around each other and unmoving, until the sun is high in the sky.

-

Danny jiggles his knee, taps his pen rapidly against the newspaper, half-finished crossword long forgotten. The waiting room is quiet, nobody speaking save for the soft murmurs of the nurse at reception as she signs people in. A large sign adorns her desk, a variety of urologist’s names and academic achievements listed for all to see.

There are a few other noises, just little repetitive things that indicate that the men around him are nervous. He tunes it all out, gaze trained on the handle of the door that Steve had walked through ten minutes prior.

It’s only when someone waves a white styrofoam cup in front of his face, that he snaps back to full attention. He reaches for his absent gun, working on startled instinct, before he remembers that he’s wearing jeans and a sweater and he’s not on the job. 

“Sorry.” A kindly-looking man smiles down at him. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You just looked like you were trying to burn that door down with your brain.”

Danny scrubs a hand over his face with one hand, the other reaching gratefully for the cup. “Thanks. Yeah. Thanks.”

The man smiles again, then walks off to take a seat.

Forcing himself to stop staring at the door like he’s about to murder it, Danny swallows the water in three quick gulps. Before long, he starts picking at the cup, shredding it into little strips and scratching lines into it with his nails.

He and Steve had discussed how they’d approach this appointment, Steve ultimately coming to the decision that he’d prefer to go in alone for his results.

Danny doesn’t mind. He can’t honestly say that he would’ve done differently. Just because they’re together, just because they touch each other and _know_ each other, it doesn’t mean that they never need any privacy, any physical space.

He’s almost split the cup clean in two when the door finally creaks open, and his eyes shoot upwards to meet with Steve’s gaze, as though they’re magnetically drawn to each other.

Steve is smiling at him, his face a picture of relief. He has a stack of A4 letters clutched in his hands, all looking very official, but the happiness that’s radiating off him is impossible to misinterpret.

Before Danny knows what he’s doing, he’s up and across the room, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest and burrowing in close. They’re almost never publicly affectionate, and it would be inappropriate to really kiss in a specialist’s office full of nervous patients, but this, this hug… well they both need this.

An older man in the corner tuts, obviously displeased and muttering into his fishing magazine about them being _unnatural._

Even on the worst of days, Danny couldn’t give a fuck, and he’s not about to let some old asshole spoil his good mood. He tucks himself close, grinning widely when Steve stoops to hook a tattooed arm around his shoulders. Side by side, they make their way to the front desk.

\- - - -  
\- - - -

Letting out a deep, base groan of satisfaction, Steve rolls off Danny and flops to his side. He’s sticky and sweaty and sated, as is Danny beside him; both of them gasping in air and almost shaking from the intensity of their orgasms.

“That was… _god._ ” Danny trails off, shifting over and letting his sentence end with a smudge of kisses to whatever part of Steve’s skin that his lips can find. He realizes that he’s kind of nosing under Steve’s armpit, which doesn’t smell particularly splendid, but he’s too bone-rattled and brain-spun to care. “Fuck. Yes. God.”

Steve seems to have almost completely sunken into the mattress, hardly moving but for the steady expansion and retraction of his chest. He lets out a moan of pleasure, lashes fluttering closed and sleep already curling around his edges. He’s just drifting off when something makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. 

They’re being watched.

His eyes spring open, and for all that he respects just how dangerous Danny is, the fact that they’re naked and in bed together makes him protectively draw his partner in closer.

Picking up on the tension in Steve’s body, Danny’s own muscles coil, preparing to strike if necessary. Neither of them speaks, merely casting their trained gazes around the room in search of danger.

…a beady pair of eyes, glowing green against the ink of the night, is hovering in the doorway and inspecting them closely. 

Danny barks out a laugh, half exasperated and half amused. 

Rex barks in return, a raspy, full-throated and excitable doggy greeting.

“The dog is watching us, Danny.” Steve’s eternal suspicions regarding all things canine return full-throttle, and he flicks on the lamp as if he’s expecting something bizarre to happen at any second.

At the sudden light, Rex whines, dropping his belly to the floor and crossing his front paws over his muzzle. His eyes, however, do not stray from their laser-like study of his humans.

“How long has he been there? Was he watching us? It looks like he’s judging us. Did we break Grace’s dog?” Sex tends to make Steve slur his words a little, turns him into a mellowed and ruffled goof.

Danny can’t help but laugh, scratching his fingernails through Steve’s chest hair reassuringly. “I don’t know how long he’s been there, babe. I have as much information as you do. And no, he’s not broken, he’s a dog. You’ve seriously never been stared at by a pet after sex?”

Steve’s whole face crinkles distastefully. “No!”

“Alright, alright, calm down. I’m not saying I made a habit of it. An ex from years ago had a cat. Her bedroom door wouldn’t latch shut, little shit kept strolling in and sitting on the bookshelf whilst we were going at it. Just got used to it, I guess.”

When Steve’s face crinkles further, Danny throws his hands up despairingly. “Don’t look at me like that! Cats are weird, okay, it’s not my fault.”

Steve doesn’t look even remotely reassured.

\- - - -  
\- - - -

The icey awkwardness that has settled in the air is so chilling, Danny thinks it might well be the coldest he’s ever felt since coming to Hawaii. 

They’re lying side by side, both inspecting the ceiling as if it’s a masterpiece worthy of the Louvre. They normally sprawl all over the place, rolling on top of each other for dominance and wrapping close – more than once, Steve has woken up with the print of Danny’s pajama shirt buttons striped across his cheek.

Tonight, however, there is an almost visible line dotting down the middle of the mattress.

Danny can’t see Steve’s face, but he can hear him open and close his mouth, breathe in as if preparing to speak before deciding on silence. Eventually, after almost ten minutes of torturous quiet… “is it something I’m doing?”

Steve sounds nervous, irritable and sympathetic all rolled together, and it only serves to make Danny angry. “No,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“Are you sure? Because it’s been two weeks now that you haven’t been able to get it up and-”

“-I know!” Danny outright explodes, hands swinging out as he propels himself upright. “What, do you think I haven’t noticed?” He crosses his arms mulishly, shifting back to lean against the headboard. 

Whenever Steve is angry, he doesn’t like to be touched, doesn’t like his physical space broached. Danny, on the other hand, is often soothed by tactile gestures. He enjoys the way that Steve presses a hand to the small of his back; the way Grace holds her arms up for a hug when she knows he’s feeling down; the way Cath pokes his sides, the only soul on the whole green earth who can get away with it. The way Chin offers him a comforting shoulder bump whenever a case goes south, and Kono demands a good morning fist bump every day when she walks into the office.

So the fact that Danny scoots away when Steve pillows his head on Danny’s thigh, speaks volumes. Steve looks surprised, even a little hurt, but Danny is so busy swinging between anger and embarrassment that he can’t be bothered to care. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Silence reigns once more, Steve choosing his words far more carefully this time around. “Is there… anything that I can do?”

All at once, the fight leaves Danny’s body, taking every ounce of his energy with it. He slides down onto his back, sprawled awkwardly half on top of Steve. 

“It’s just the normal shit, you know?” He addresses the ceiling, but he can sense Steve listening intently by his side. “It’s nothing new, nothing you don’t know about. Just dad’s treatment is making him sick. Grace has her first set of big tests soon, so she’s really stressed, and then I just keep thinking, _when did my baby girl reach the eighth grade?_ My knee’s acting up with this weather, and I’ve been trying not to let it show on the job, but I’m sure you’ve noticed. Got another email from the FBI about Matt, yesterday. Plus, work. The scumbags that roam around this rock, and the endless stream of paperwork that follows. And I just, I just…” He breaks off, realizing that he’s panting a little.

“Hey,” Steve soothes, tentatively reaching out and carding his fingers through the blonde hair at Danny’s navel. “Take a breath.”

Eyes wide, Danny does as he’s told, willing his heart to settle and focusing on the rise and fall of Steve’s hand with his chest. “I just… I don’t have room in my life, right now, for sex. I’m sorry. Just for a few weeks. I just need to go to work, and eat and sleep and shower, and that’s it, I’m done. I’m too tired.” 

He feels bad, even as he says the words, and rolls over to tuck himself to the line of Steve’s body. “It’s not anything you’re doing. I’m sorry.”

Having finally, _finally_ gotten his thoughts off his chest, he quickly falls into the sleep of the utterly exhausted.

\- - - -  
\- - - -

Danny is just settling back into his pillows, the feel of Steve’s mouth wrapped around his cock all that he can focus on, when their bedroom door flies open. 

All six feet of Steve, sprawled on his belly between Danny’s thighs, jumps straight up into the air in shock. It’s like something from a cartoon, and he practically army-navy-ninja-whatever rolls off the far side of the bed, taking the sheet with him. Danny scrabbles for a corner, tugging it back over his legs and hips with a grumbled, “give that back, you asshole!”

The room is blessedly, beautifully, mercifully inky-dark, but he can just make out the shape of Grace in the doorway. She’s standing there in her pajamas, knuckling her eyes and whimpering softly. “Danno, I feel sick. My tummy, my tummy hurts. Steve, it _hurts._ ”

She sounds distressed, achingly sad, and his heart breaks for her. She knows to always knock during the night whenever she needs something, (neither of them comfortable locking the door on her), so she must feel so sick as to have completely forgotten.

“Baby girl.” He starts to reach for her, then remembers that he’s naked. “Hang on, hang on.”

Using the bed for cover, Steve tugs his tracksuit pants on, feet kicked up in the air and ass on the floor – once he’s presentable, he stands, loping forward to rest his hand on Grace’s shoulder.

She leans into him, tucks herself to his hip, the very picture of despondent exhaustion.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says as he flicks the hallway light on. “We’ll go to the bathroom, find you some medicine. Danno will be there in a second.”

They shuffle down the hallway, Danny watching the black silhouette of their bodies move against the yellow lights of the house.

\- - - -  
\- - - -

“Just. Fucking. Stop it, oh my god, stop. This is the worst sex we’ve ever had.” Danny’s words are more laughter than consonants, his lips stretched wide into a grin and his head thrown back against the pillow.

Steve isn’t doing much better, his face half buried into the slope of Danny’s shoulder and his whole body shaking as he almost, _almost but not quite,_ giggles. “No, it’s not. You put in a truly terrible performance that Sunday afternoon a few months back when the power went out. It was like reading the business section.”

Danny smacks him remonstratively on the ass. “Well, what about you? What kind of genius eats baked beans for dinner? Every time I move, you-“

\- before he can finish his sentence, there is a suspicious noise from down beneath the sheets.

The smacks return, gentle, but three-fold. “Get off, get off, fuck, you stink. Just get off me, I do not want you around my person.”

Steve rolls onto his side of the bed, now laughing so hard that he can barely find the time to be indignant. “I was hungry, alright? You burned dinner!”

Choosing not to reply, Danny shakes the sheets enthusiastically, hoping to clear away the pungent air. 

His disgust only makes Steve laugh even harder. “Who knew you were so precious? It’s not like you always smell great, you sweat more than I thought physically possible, and I spent my twenties sleeping in military barracks.”

“It’s the body-hair, alright? You try having all this,” he waves a finger at his chest and belly, “in this fucking heat and humidity, then get back to me.”

“It’s the wardrobe, Danno.”

“Do not _Danno_ me, you, and do not start in on my wardrobe!”

\- - - -  
\- - - -

“See?” Steve asks, drinking in the sight of a disgruntled Danny, eyebrows arched triumphantly high. “I told you.”

Danny shifts awkwardly in his designated beach chair. He’s got his jeans tugged up over his hips, but they’re still unbuttoned and loose. “Fuck, you were right, that was awful.” He shifts again, wiggling his ass against the seat as though trying to ease an itch.

“Sand?”

More wiggling, then an undignified groan of irritation. “Yes, sand. A lot of sand where sand has no business being.” 

“Just once, Steven,” Steve imitates, his attempt at Danny’s accent faintly offensive. “Just once, I’ve got to try this. I’m living on an island, sleeping with a Navy ninja, and my house is two feet from the water.”

“Alright alright!” Danny waves his hands about, hoping to shut Steve the hell up. “Don’t quote me to me, that still pisses me off. However. Yes. I will admit, I was wrong. On this _rare_ occasion, you were right and I was wrong. Sex on the beach is terrible.”

Danny’s concession is music to Steve’s ears, and he drops happily into the second chair. “It really is. Seaweed, salt water, sand everywhere and sticky body parts. Not a great combination.”

Danny nods, trying to scratch his ass against the arm-rest. “Plus, that little lobster thing scuttled past half-way through. That sure killed the mood.” If he kicks a foot out sulkily into the sand, well, only Steve is there to see it.

They sit companionably for some time, the sounds of the waves and the rustle of Danny’s jeans against his seat the only real noises to break the calm. An idea sparks, and Steve sits bolt upright in his chair – barely a second later, as though they’ve communicated telepathically, Danny sits up also.

They look at each other, wet and bedraggled and sandy and sticky, but their faces are a perfect mirror of happiness. “Shower sex?”

Off like a shot, they race up the grass, Danny hop-skip-jumping out of his jeans as he goes and almost tripping over in the process. Steve’s hands brush his ass, dispelling pesky grains of sand – and, of course, copping a feel.

The back door is hastily wrenched open and they stumble their way inside, kissing and walking and undressing all at once.

Over the roll of the waves, crashes and yelps can be heard from within the house, no doubt Steve backing Danny into the dining-room table, or Danny tossing Steve’s shirt aside and knocking over a vase in the process. But there’s a lot of laughter, too – and, well, that’s what counts, in the end.


End file.
